Early Experiences

This was originally intended for someone else to read, but I thought I’d like to share it within this forum...

Hi

It occurred to me a little while ago that you might be interested in reading about my own gradual awareness of my own body. Since it was obviously so different from anything that you experienced, I thought it would be good to write about - just for the sake of comparison. And to highlight the differences, I thought of one particular event I could mention.

I'm not entirely sure where to start with this, but I imagine that it would be when I was at school and getting my earliest sex education class. At least I can start there, and move on until I get as far as the event I have in mind. It'll certainly set the scene.

OK, so the class happened when I was in Primary seven. A bit useless for some late developers, but I imagine that there were probably some early developers who benefited from the classes. I doubt that though, considering the content of those classes. From what little I remember of them, they seemed designed to traumatise impressionable young minds.

I remember a lot of line drawings of fallopian tubes and penises. I remember a live childbirth scene, replete with all the blood and gore that are part of the process but horrified every one of us. And I remember a passing comment about masturbation, although I completely misinterpreted that one.

"All boys play with their penises at some point, though most give it up after a while," the narrator said dispassionately. And I'm convinced there were no more details than that. Accompanying that little bit of narrative were two side on views of a line drawing of a boy - one with limp penis, one with erection. The class giggled at that.

Now, I remembered having an erection a couple of years previously, but I believe that was an isolated incident at the time. I had looked at it, toyed with it, lost interest and given up. This, I felt sure, was what the narrator had meant.

Anyway, the classes didn't last long at all. I finished Primary School, moved on and the classes were never followed up at all. I remember feeling deeply ashamed at the time of the fact that whenever possible, I would go to the local park and strip for a few moments among the trees where no-one could see. "Good" boys didn't do that, but I loved the feeling of the air on my body. If my vocabulary had included the word "deviant" at the time, I feel sure I would have applied that word to myself.

Well, now I'm going to jump on a few years. About three or four, I think. When I was 18.

To set the scene... I was in bed and was reading a book when I developed an erection. For the life of me, I can't remember if this was the first one or if I'd had a few in recent weeks, and that lack of response seems to typify my attitudes towards a number of different things. I had noticed that I was growing pubic hair, but for some reason I didn't care. It wasn't something to be frightened of or to welcome - it was simply some new curiosity and that was precisely how it was treated. Just something to look down at and think; "Oh! Hair. Oh, well." Teenage apathy seemed to have set in with a vengeance.

Well, I moved my hand down and started playing with my cock. At the time I didn't even know why I was bothering, but since it didn't feel bad, I was in no real hurry to stop. I just kept rubbing my hand up and down my shaft very slowly. It felt nice and comforting. And slightly deviant. Yes, by this time my vocabulary was a bit more sophisticated.

Deviant or not, I didn't stop and in fact started moving my hand faster. After a few more pumps, the sensations even began to merit my full attention and I put my book aside and kept pumping. My other hand moved down to cup my balls and play with them too. This was getting better by the second.

Ultimately, of course, the sensations condensed into that one moment of orgasm and I came right over my stomach and as far up as my chest. I had enough presence of mind to quell my gasps, so as not to attract the attention of my parents or sisters and let go of myself. For a good while after that, the tip of my cock felt so sensitive, that the merest touch of a fingertip sent spasms through it.

Of course, I had no idea what had just happened, but dim memories of long ago classes started ringing bells in my memory - just enough to let me know that this wasn't a symptom of some weird kind of disease or something and make me go running for medical attention. Again, though, I don't remember any feelings of elation or fear or anything like that. I just cleaned myself up and resolved to do that again. Soon.

That was the beginning of my experimentation and the beginning of the next stage of my sex education.

At the time, I thought I was doing well. I nicked a bunch of the magazines my dad had stored at the side of his bed, then got into the habit of settling back with one on a nightly basis and reading the stories. I was educating myself, I thought. And I found that education in the letters pages.

All those things that other people did! I was astonished. I read about threesomes and water sports and clitorises (is that the plural of clitoris?) and oral sex... I was turned off at the thought of water sports in any form at all, but the thought of a woman taking my cock in her mouth? Incredible! Well, it wouldn't be long until my hand would stray down there and I'd start playing with myself again, but there were so many fascinating letters and articles that I would try to draw that out as long as possible, so as to learn more and more and more.

It was always the letters pages I loved best. The pictures were great and I'd turn straight to those, to get myself hard, but long before I ever took hold of my cock I'd be reading the letters. I read references to the "69 position" and started wondering how many there were. Would I be considered strange if someone told me to adopt the "72" position for example, and I didn't know what that was?

Ultimately, all I was really doing, by reading these magazines and not actually going out there and finding out for myself, was buying into a thousand and one separate little myths and planting at least as many fears and doubts and insecurities into my head. In fact, these days I'm at a loss to figure out how much damage they did and whether that outweighed the good.

For example, one of the things I should have known right from the start was something I never did until I was 18 - and that was to draw my foreskin back. In all those years, I had never even considered it - it simply hadn't occurred to me. These days, I'm amazed that I could have gone so long with such ignorance, but when I read a reference to that in one magazine, the first thing I wondered was whether it was possible.

So, in the interests of experimentation, I threw back the blankets and gingerly drew it down. It hurt to do so, but I drew it right back, and from that night on I made a habit of doing so and washing underneath it. I had read about that in a magazine called Forum which was more of a medically oriented magazine than a pornographic one, despite its strong sexual content. Shortly afterwards, I threw out all my other magazines and read exclusively that one.

Of course, there was still the problem that I was getting all my sexual pleasure from magazines, and I began to realise that this wasn't a healthy thing. Ultimately, I even got rid of the Forum magazines, and although I never did completely lose my taste for erotic literature, I developed a proper sex life and started getting to know people rather than my own right hand.

To go further with this tale would require a hell of a lot more time, by the way. But there is one further event that I think helped shaped my development a bit more and led on to my more exhibitionist tendencies.

At school, I joined a swimming class and shared the pool after hours with three or four girls who one day decided to liven things up. I went to the showers and had just taken off my trunks when they all burst in on me - and there I was in all my glory. I pretended to try to conceal myself, but in fact I relished the opportunity to display myself and was quickly very erect. I went through the motions of turning to hide myself, and run to the changing area, but was surrounded and prevented for a good couple of minutes from making my escape. It was an exciting and all too brief moment and one that found its way into my masturbatory fantasies for a good few nights afterward.

Anyway, from about the age of 18 onwards, I started the most recent stage of my own self education, but only really recognised that in the last three years or so. And since this covers a spectrum of life so broad (sex, social interaction, communication) there is probably not a hope in hell that I can write about it as concisely as I wrote this particular passage.